


The Descent

by falindis



Series: Into This Wild Abyss [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bittersweet, Creation of the One ring, Death of Ancalagon, Final Battle, Goodbye Sex, Inspired by Art, Inspired by Music, M/M, Shapeshifter Mairon, War of Wrath, aftermath of war, last goodbyes, so many feels, you will cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24675931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: Scenes from the War of Wrath, told through Mairon’s eyes. A last goodbye, a battle to end all battles, and an offer of mercy. A Maia's final descent into darkness.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Into This Wild Abyss [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742446
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	1. This Will Destroy You

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the final piece in the "Into This Wild Abyss"-series, and consists of 3 chapters. The chapters of this fic are named after the band "This Will Destroy You", for it was what I was listening at the time. Hope you enjoy this rollercoaster of feels! And if you like, don't hesitate to leave a comment or kudos. ♥

The ground far below was speckled with thousands of moving dots, crawling their way towards Angband. There were men and elves and dwarves, all gathered together in hordes, as if their ancient rivalries had suddenly been forgotten. And many creatures there were, faithful hounds and birds and mounts – imperfect beings that had not yet been touched by the Dark Flame.

Wind tore at the bat’s wings as it circled over the horde, far too high for them to notice. And even if they would, they could not catch him, for he could change form into anything he desired, eternally escaping their grasp.

He flew straight back to Angband, fluttering his way through the tower into the dark subterranean depths of the fortress. There, in the gloomy red light of molten rock, the Dark Lord sat upon his dark throne, clad in iron and smoke. Two pure white stones stared at the newcomer from the base of his crown, as he opened his mouth to speak.

“You have returned.”

The bat landed on the cold stone before the throne, transforming into the form of a tall, pale man with flaming red hair, and eyes that gleamed with the same hellish shade. He was dressed in robes of black and red, and flared shoulders that highlighted his graceful form. “My lord Melkor. I have scouted the lands for the Valarin host. It is as I expected. They shall arrive by the morn.”

Melkor crossed his fingers and smiled. “Good. Excellent work as always, Mairon.”

Mairon bowed his head and did not raise his gaze. He said nothing.

“You wish to still tell me something”, Melkor reasoned. “What is it?”

Mairon drew a deep breath. Dragging out the words was an almost painful task, as if they hurt him both physically and mentally.

“I have seen the size of their host, my lord. I have done the calculations, ran the scenarios over and over in my head. And it pains me to tell this, but I believe that the best course of action would…”

Mairon choked, as if he had suddenly swallowed a boulder. Melkor’s gaze seemed to flay him to the bone.

“Would be what?”

Mairon blurted the following words in one, consecutive stream. “Perhaps we could… should consider a retreat.”

There was a dreadful silence.

And then, to Mairon’s surprise, Melkor _laughed._

“Retreat?” he repeated once, then twice. _“Retreat._ Do I believe my ears? How, my dear lieutenant, do you expect us to lose? We have behind us the entire power of Angband. Your beasts and my balrogs. Ancalagon.”

Mairon knew that. But they had never fought all of the Valar before. And if it had taken but a human and an elf to defeat Melkor last time, how was this time any different?

Still, Mairon could not bring himself to say the truth. Because it was too painful. That Melkor had spent too long underground, isolated from the outside world. He did not understand how strong the children of Iluvatar had become.

So he softened his words, stepped around the truth. “Retreating is not always a sign of weakness. There is strength in knowing when to stop, when to regroup and gather strength.”

But Melkor had already made up his mind. He simply waved his hand dismissively, before tapping at the empty throne beside him. “You worry too much, Mairon. Now, come here. I shall ease your pain.”

Mairon went. He sat down on the hard surface, exhaling deep. Melkor stood up from his throne, taking his place beside his lieutenant and sliding his fingers under Mairon’s hair, beginning to massage his scalp.

“So tense”, Melkor said quietly, as Mairon struggled to ease into his touch. “Allow me to make you feel good.”

Mairon closed his eyes. And although Melkor’s fingers felt good on him, _too_ good, Mairon was not content. For in his heart he already knew.

He knew that they would lose.

*

That night Melkor and Mairon made love for the last time.

With his fingers Mairon mapped out all the lines of the Vala’s body, adoring his _fána_ as if it were their last night on Arda. He worshipped his master with his hands and tongue, each kiss a little prayer, a small shard of devotion. Melkor did the same to him, aroused by his servant’s zeal, his insatiable hunger. Mairon moaned until his throat was hoarse, until nothing escaped from his lips but a whimper –

– love me – take me – _please,_ master –

_make me forget._

When Melkor entered him Mairon wept, tears falling from his eyes as his master pounded deeper, bruising skin with his iron-hard touch. Words of adoration spilled from Mairon’s tongue, as he ~~pleaded begged~~ prayed to be touched: deeper, harder, _more._ Melkor took him in every way possible, coming inside him and on him and all over his body, until their forms were slick with their shared seed and sweat. Their bodies and souls came together in these carnal acts of love, and all Angband rang out with their cries of pleasure.

Neither of them slept that night. They simply stayed tangled in each other until dawn spilled in from the windows. Even then they remained at each other’s side for a while longer, one more lifetime of a second.

The host of the Valar arrived that morning, just like Mairon knew they would.

High from his tower Mairon watched as the horizon filled with countless glimmering specks of light, spears and shields reflecting the rising sun.

He stood in front of the mirror, observing his naked form for a moment. Melkor stood beside him and hummed in appreciation, running his hands over the curves of Mairon's body. Mairon shivered at the Vala’s cold touch, both leaning towards and away from it, knowing that if he went any closer, the ice would creep its way into his heart.

That was the last time Melkor saw him bare like that. He helped Mairon into his underclothes and armor, plated with dark gold in red and black details. A flaming eye was painted on Mairon’s chest and on his bloodred cloak, and the pads on his shoulders were sharp and angular. Above his head he placed a ruby-adorned circlet of gold, and he lined his eyes with the black of kohl.

“You are beautiful”, Melkor whispered into his ear, leaning in for a kiss. Mairon raised his chin to meet the Vala’s lips, and for that dreadfully short moment he forgot about the war, about the pain and destruction that were to come. The push and pull of their lips, their bodies clashing was all there was, the dance of sparks and the shadows between them.


	2. I Believe in Your Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And then, the Eagles came."
> 
> Eönwe presents one final offer of peace. Mairon leads a losing battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamnit, Manwë, what is it with you and those Eagles! Always at the very last moment!
> 
> This chapter is named after a song by "This Will Destroy You." Once again, if you like, I enjoy all kinds of feedback. ♥

Mairon stood at the head of the horde, carrying a black banner with the peaks of Thangorodrim on it.

The two armies faced each other on a barren field, the desolate wasteland at the gates of Angband. The counted strength of both together was tens of thousands, but the field was utterly silent. All simply watched as both armies sent out their messenger in front, in one last desperate plea for peace.

Even from afar Mairon recognized Eönwë, his Maiarin kin from the days of Almaren. Manwë’s herald had not changed one bit – he was clad in the bright blue of sky, long blond hair tied in a taut braid. He carried a white banner picturing the eagles of Manwë, and his eyes looked perpetually sad.

“Sauron”, the Maia called out as they met each other at the center of the field.

“Eönwë.”

A lonely gust of wind blew by, fluttering their banners and clothes, two complete opposites of each other: blue, white and silver; red, black and gold.

“If you have come to demand our surrender, that will be in vain”, Mairon said. “We are past the time for negotiations.”

Eönwë shook his head. “It is not your surrender I have come to ask. All I need is for you to listen.”

Mairon raised his chin haughtily. “And why would I do that?”

“For were we not once brothers, you and I?”

Mairon frowned. “I do not know of what you speak.”

“You may have forgotten, but I have not. The Ainur are family, and you will always be part of that family. It does not have to end like this. You can still turn, repent your actions. Come home.”

Mairon clenched his fists. “You lie.”

“I do not. My lord Manwë is merciful. If you were to atone for your actions, all your past wrongs would be forgotten. For there is still good in you, _Mairon_ , although you may not see it yourself.”

Eönwë put down his banner and held out his hand. “Come.”

For a moment Mairon considered it.

Just one look at the horde of the Valar gave it away – this was not a fight they could win. Angband hand their dragons, their balrogs and their legions of orcs: simple, fearless killing machines that cared not for a single life and would not flee from a fight. But although they outnumbered the host of elves and dwarves and men on the other side of the field, at the front stood all the Valar and Maiar, tall as statues and equally glorious. Even one of them had the strength of a hundred – no – a thousand men.

It was not only defeat that Mairon considered. Even though he could not admit it, he saw an appeal in Eönwë’s words. Perhaps a part of him _wanted_ to be forgiven, not to be seen as a monster, but as admired and accepted by all, as in the early days.

“Please, Mairon”, Eönwë begged now. Tears were budding in his piercing blue eyes. “Look around you. This death and destruction? This is not you. For millennia Morgoth has poisoned your mind, twisted you to his own purpose. He cares not for you – the only thing he cares for is destruction. You are simply a pawn, a puppet in his game. Once he has no more use for you, you will be discarded along with everything else. But it does not have to be this way.”

And with those words, something within Mairon _snapped._

Eönwë offered his hand once again, begging and crying and spilling words from his mouth. But Mairon no longer heard any of them. The same phrases repeated themselves over and over in his head, and slowly he realized that what he had been offered as water was truly poison. Eönwë dared not even speak Melkor’s true name – how could _he_ possibly know his thoughts? It was all lies. Melkor cared for Mairon, Mairon knew he did, or else he would not stand there now, command the greatest army Arda had ever seen. Melkor needed him, he _loved_ him, and would do so until the end of time.

Eönwë’s eyes reflected the painful truth: that he knew his effort had been in vain.

“No”, Mairon said, looking down on the other Maia. “I will _never_ take your hand, Eönwë.”

“Mairon”, Eönwë cried one last time. “No…”

“Tell your master to take a good look at these banners”, Mairon continued. “They will be the last thing he sees before he dies.”

Mairon snapped around on his heels, his red hair and cape flowing behind him as he returned to his troops.

“What now, sir?” Gothmog called out to him. “Shall we attack?”

“Yes.” Sauron smiled coldly. “Sound the advance.”

*

The battlefield was chaos.

It was a cacophony of clashing swords, screams and roaring flames and thunder. The sky above was red with rolling clouds, and dark shapes whirled through the air and clawed at each other. At the foot of the mountain stood Ancalagon, his head taller than the highest of peaks, his breath a torrent of fire and lightning. His enemies fell from the skies in hordes, drawing burning trails in the clouds on their way down.

Sauron glided across the field, a bloody smile slashed across his face. At the moment he was wearing the form of half Maia, half a great winged drake, with scaly red wings that glimmered as the light hit them. His hands and feet sported sharp talons, which he used to grab his enemies from the ground and then toss them from a great height, or simply finish them where they stood. A horde of winged beasts followed after him – dragons, giant bats, creatures of shadow and flame. They burned the battlefield to a blazing ruin, decimating everything in their path.

For a moment, simply a fleeting moment, Sauron thought they could win. Although the Valar had fought valiantly, Sauron’s assault had taken them by surprise, and few mortals could withstand the heat of dragon fire. So Sauron pumped his powerful wings and laughed, filled with ecstasy and triumph, knowing the reward for this victory would be great.

And then… the Eagles came.

At the head of their host flew Eärendil, on his ship that tore the sky asunder with light. At the heat of that blaze all were forced to cover their eyes, lest they be blinded by its brightness. Sauron cried in agony as he fell, the white light tearing his wings to shreds, until nothing protected him from the empty air.

He crashed to the ground as a meteor would, rumbling and shattering the earth at his fall, covering leagues of land in dust and flame. For a while he simply lay motionless, on his back watching the sky churn above. Forks of lightning rimmed with fire. Ash that spiraled to the ground like snow.

When Sauron finally stood, he could see that all was lost.

The earth was littered with the corpses of his children. Wherever he looked he saw them writhing, suffering, if not already downright dead. From beneath the dust cloud he squinted to the skies, still blindingly bright in his eyes, seeing the shadow of falling Ancalagon, crushing down the towers of Thangorodrim with his weight. A large cry of triumph rang out – not of one but a thousand voices, the voices of his enemies, the song of their victory.

“No”, Sauron whispered. And with all the strength of his will he forced his wings to grow back, and he flew across the battlefield so fast as light would, to reach poor Ancalagon in time.

But it was too late. The great beast lay there on his side, stomach tore open from the groin to the gut, life already leaking out of him. Sauron reached out a clawed hand to touch him, to feel the beating of his heart one last time. Ancalagon was so large that even one of his scales was bigger than Sauron’s hand, magnificent and iron-black like the crown that held his master’s Silmarils. The dragon’s skin was still warm, soft even – vulnerable, like it had been when he was still a child. Sauron still remembered when Ancalagon had been so small that he could fit in just one hand, how he had crawled next to his master as he slept, warming his body on a lonely night. He had always been a being of both shadow and light, a heat so bright that it both burned the eye and chilled the soul.

Now Sauron watched the light in his eyes go out.

At that sight he was filled with a primeval rage, a powerful rush that overtook him like a storm. A light flared in his eyes and he _screamed,_ so that a great wave of fire burst from him and washed down a league of his enemies.

Then he gathered himself and rushed to his master.


	3. Go Away Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“No. It is too late. For me, at least. But not for you. You must go now, my spark. Live. Do this for me.”_
> 
> The Valar finally break down into the fortress. Mairon and Melkor share a last goodbye. Afterwards, Eönwë presents Mairon a second offer, and the Maia looks back on all his dark deeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part where Mairon runs to warn Melkor was inspired by [this](https://eol.tumblr.com/post/618026726838190080/) beautiful piece of art by eol, go check it out! :*>
> 
> Once again, this chapter is named by a song by This Will Destroy You. Good reading!

When Melkor was in danger, Mairon knew it.

It was like a tug in his stomach, a pull at his heart. An almost physical pain and urge to be at Melkor’s side, to protect him at any cost. He had felt it a few times before – when the Silmaril from his master’s crown was stolen, when the Valar captured him for the first time. The bond of their fëar was that strong. Although Mairon had not been physically present, he had felt it. After both of those times, he had wished to never feel it again.

But he felt it now.

He reached the courtyard just in time. The first soldiers had already broken through, and there was fighting everywhere. Mairon did not think. He simply drew his mace and cut through the enemies like butter, not sparing a single soul. With every strike he was closer to his master – he could feel their bond now, stronger, as he entered through the doors and fought his way through the main hall, down to the subterranean depths that his master was in.

Mairon was aghast. He did not understand how the host had broken through so fast. He felt guilty – he should have been _here,_ by his master’s side, not far on the field fighting a losing battle. But that guilt soon shifted to hate when he reached the lowest floor, already crawling with enemies. In their midst Melkor was waving his hammer Grond in long, powerful arcs, crushing skulls and breaking limbs. Still, more and more seemed to come at him from every direction.

Anger blossomed in Mairon’s chest, and the whole floor shook and burned as he yelled: “Leave him BE!”

His fire scorched a path across the room, drawing a wall between Melkor and his enemies, who were burned to charred husks. Mairon raised the barrier higher, pulling curtains of flame to keep intruders at bay, and momentarily the hallway was clear of all but them. Mairon ran to his master, wrapping his arms around his neck. Melkor’s hands tightened around him, burying him into his embrace, and with that simple gesture Mairon felt _right_ again, whole.

“Master!” he cried, clinging onto Melkor for dear life. “Our forces are destroyed. Ancalagon has fallen. We have lost.”

“I know, Mairon”, Melkor said. His voice was surprisingly calm. “You were right.”

Mairon swallowed. He could already hear the footsteps of the Valar, echoing from the uppermost halls. “They are coming.”

“Yes.”

“We must leave now, master.” Mairon gestured towards the throne room, to the nethermost part of the fortress. “If we go now, we might still get out in time. The tunnels beneath the fortress…”

But Melkor simply shook his head. “There is no escape from this. And even if there was, where would we go? The Valar would simply find us again.”

Mairon blinked in confusion. Denial. He could not believe what he was hearing. “Please, master”, he begged now. “Come. You _must_ come.”

“No. It is too late. For me, at least. But not for you.” Melkor took Mairon’s hands to his own, wrapped his charred fingers around Mairon’s pale and milky ones. Mairon’s hand seemed so small against his, so fragile. “You must go now, my spark. _Live._ Do this for me.”

“Master…”

Melkor squeezed his hand. “No. Go now, and I will hold them back. I will _not_ let them take you.”

The thrumming of the Valar came ever closer. Mairon could now feel their power, a surge in his veins like lightning. And still his master stood in place, refusing to move. Making this terrible order that was impossible to carry out. Mairon had never defied his master, but this time he had to. He could not do it. He refused to.

“I will not leave your side”, Mairon said. “Not ever.”

A sad smile crossed Melkor’s face. “You always were the most loyal of servants. But the time for servitude has passed. I do not address you now as your lord, but as your lover, your mate in _fëa._ Thus I order you, I _beg_ you to leave, for it would break my spirit to see you chained, tethered to the Valar. You do remember what I said to you, when we had just met? Before you joined my side.”

Melkor moved his charred fingers to caress Mairon’s face, to hold him gently and firmly in the same time. “That a flame of yours cannot be controlled or tamed. It burns far too brightly for that.”

“I remember”, Mairon whispered. “I could never forget.”

“Then you will understand why I must do this. Why I must let you go.” Melkor wiped back the single tear that rolled down Mairon’s cheek. “Mairon, my love… I release you from my service.”

With the weight of those words Mairon finally understood Melkor’s need, the gravity of his wish. That he valued Mairon enough to let him go. To stand on his own.

That he valued him more than life itself.

Melkor pulled Mairon into one last, desperate embrace, and then they were kissing, drinking longing and pleasure from each other’s lips. Into that one kiss coalesced all of their dread and desire, all of their love and hate, all the shared years together and apart.

“My power is yours”, Mairon whispered against Melkor’s lips. “And yours is mine.”

Melkor squeezed Mairon so tight that he thought he would break.

“Now, my precious”, he said, and his voice had the strength of a glacier, a mountain. “GO.”

Mairon fought back the tears that tried to surge at his eyes. Instead he fed on them, used them to fuel his fire. With that final strength he fought to create himself a new form, one that allowed him to pass through the gates unnoticed.

With Melkor’s taste still on his lips, Mairon closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.

Then he was gone, and all that was left was the growing void between them.

*

The peaks of the mountains were bathed in the sun.

Mairon did not even remember the last time he had seen the sun or felt its warmth upon his skin. The smokes of Thangorodrim had always shut it out, suffocating all but the hardiest life. Now the landscape was alive with color. Here, where the land had formerly been barren, flowers were starting to grow, their colorful blossoms dotting the greening landscape like a thousand gemstones. From a nearby stream the reflecting light glittered, warming Mairon’s face in its golden speckles.

There was a certain kind of beauty to that, too, Mairon found himself thinking, before he smothered the thought. This was just a reflection, a false imitation of true light.

Suddenly the glint in the corner of his eye grew more powerful, carrying a weight of his own, and the reflection became light itself. Mairon closed his eyes and turned away. He did not need to see the comer to recognize them.

“Eönwë”, he said.

“Mairon.”

It was silent. Mairon occupied himself by picking a small, blue flower from the ground, picking its petals one at a time. But even before he reached the end the stem came apart from the heat in his hands. All that he touched he destroyed.

“Have you come to taunt?” he asked.

Eönwë came closer, circling to stand in front of Mairon, blocking out the sun. “No. I have come to offer you mercy.”

Mairon laughed. “Then do so. I offer myself to you. Pass your judgement on me. No punishment could be worse than the one you have already given me.”

A sadness curved the edges of Eönwë’s eyes. “It was necessary. Morgoth had to be banished for his crimes. If imprisoned, he would have simply risen again, just like he did before. Only by casting him in the Void will the world be safe from him forever.”

Mairon clenched his teeth. Just the mention of his master made rage coil inside of him, boil his veins so hot he thought their fire would consume him. “You took him from me.”

“He took you from _us._ Look what he has done to you, Mairon. I barely recognize you anymore. You have not simply allowed to be influenced by him. You have become him.”

“That is because he _is_ a part of me”, Mairon hissed. “Our _fëa_ are one. By taking him from me you took a part of my soul. And I will never forgive you for that.”

The lines upon Eönwë’s face deepened. “You need to grieve. I understand that. But know that you are not beyond redemption. There is a part of your soul that is still untainted by him, that is still _you._ If you decide to embrace that part of you, I will forgive you for your crimes. For are you not a Maia? You deserve a second chance at the world, a chance to embrace your true purpose.”

“And what is that?”

“To create beauty out of chaos, not the other way around. Aulë often spoke of your works. That there was no-one as diligent, no-one as hard-working. And as talented as you.”

Mairon scoffed. “Then why did he never tell me that?”

“He did, although you may not realize it yourself. A father’s love is not always expressed by words, but that does not mean that it is not there. Of all his smiths in Almaren, Aulë loved you the most. You must believe that.”

Mairon was quiet for a long time. The wind rustled. Rocks sang in the creek against water.

“I don’t know what to believe in anymore”, he finally replied.

“Home. Believe in home.” Eönwë smiled, albeit sadly. He turned to look at the sun, which was already starting to set. Westward. “I cannot pass judgement on one of my own rank. But if you follow me to Valinor, rest assured, all would be understood. Come home, Mairon.”

And with those words Eönwë pumped his white wings and took to the skies, until he was nothing but a disappearing shooting star next to the sun.

Mairon sat alone for a long time after, until the sun became a red disk in the horizon and dyed the whole world in its fiery hue. It was only then that he stood. When he did so, he noticed the ground he had been sitting on was completely scorched: a single, black and lifeless spot among the fields of color.

The sun disappeared behind the peaks. Shadows descended over the land.

 _No,_ Mairon realized then. Valinor was not his place. He would not fit in, just like he had never done in Almaren either. He was a being of darkness now, long lost and too far corrupted.

But he knew he was not the only one. He would find a place where he belonged, and there he would gather those that shared his thoughts. Unwanted, discarded, broken things.

He would bring order among the chaos. Build. Control.

“For you, I shall do this”, Mairon swore in the cold light under the stars, where the peaks of Thangorodrim once stood. “My love.”

He took one last look upon the land that had been his home. Until it had been taken from him.

Then he turned his back to the red-tinted sky, shed his mortal form and flew like a shadow across the land. Towards his new home. His new purpose.

Eastward.

*

The years passed by.

Decades, centuries, millennia.

Places, faces, sights and sounds. Sensations and the lack of them. New and old faces, hands and bodies and touches upon skin.

Meaningless. Fleeting. None of them lasted. Everything would die.

He remained, although he disliked the chaos here, the confusion that the warring of peoples had brought. Wars over matters of little concern, of irrelevant and insignificant things. So short was the memory of men.

Yet tirelessly he worked, endlessly, without sleep; the most diligent and talented of all the Maiar of creation, who was once known as the Admirable. Beautiful one. Perfect.

He was that no longer. His mortal form was but a shell of his former self. This was a dark form, terrible to behold. They dared not even speak his true name. They forgot it.

Thus he forgot himself. In time his love for order and perfection twisted into things flawed and corrupt. Darkness without light. Discord without harmony. It called to him from the Void. Beckoned.

He answered the call. This was one final song. A Song of power spun in gold, a gateway, an opening.

The One he called it. Certainty. Purpose.

And into that One ring he poured all of his cruelty and his malice, all his love and his longing, the most destructive forces of all creation.

“It is complete, my love…”

So he spoke in the fires of Orodruin, as his light bended into shadow and bound his _fëa_ one last time.

“…my precious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you reached this far: THANK YOU so much for reading this. If you have been with me the whole series, I thank you for your patience and perseverance to go through with all the works. If you are reading this as an individual piece, I thank you too and hope you will enjoy the rest of the series too. This was my first Silmarillion fic series, and hopefully it will not be the last. In any case, I am grateful you stayed until the end, and once again, if you liked, don't hesitate to leave a comment or kudos.
> 
> P.S. You can find me also on tumblr (@melkrows). ♥


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